[x]

Insert creative title here.sometimes I hate the idea
of talking

I rather eat the autumn
skies crushing cold air between my molars
and hiding shaky hands
between pages of dictionaries
and clickclickclicking sounds of typewriters

you asked me why I wrote poems
on the soles of my shoes
and I told you

it was because I wanted to
imprint myself on the earth
then I can create beauty
even if I am not

Moonlight PerfectionI'm writing this by moonlight - the eerie glow of a full moon, to be exact. I'm wondering if you remember how we marvelled at a full moon, promising to use it as a medium in which to speak to each other, even while separated by thousands of thousands of miles. Of course we wouldn't hear each other, we figured, but we'd always know. That's how love works.

I'm not sure if you've blocked out the memory or not. I am sure that you know which memory I speak of - we have many, but there's nothing quite as special as dancing at midnight at the foot of a swan-flocked pond, despite the absence of music. The swans watched us, and I swear that by the ti

A Gods DebtSutured together by artists,

devoured blasphemy-

hallowed out, & spit back up,

( you are afraid. )

Hooks longing for her ribcage embrace;

god-hands that can't seem to keep to themselves

grapple the gargoyle exterior of her deflowered frame.

( spread your legs. )

Red-inked and trembling,

prosetry masked as screams

knots into her anatomy.

Her name was AmyHair the colour of rust and bones that fell apart
We’d eat rocky road ice cream bars
You perched on broken handle bars
And I would press down on the brakes
We were scabs and lacerations
Knobbly knees and smoke filled curls

I remember when you stole your father’s gin
And climbed out of your window
Throwing bed sheets tied like cherry knots
You were the one who taught me how to do that, you know
Brass heart palpitations from running down to the river
After stealing apples
From old wrinkled trees with knotted arthritic branches

Your cheeks were dusted with freckles in the summer
And your eyes changed from green to grey
We made

dwindletown night trainexcruciating
to dwindle unconvinced
seeping in minutes
towards
radioactive peaceful slumber
tragic-laced sweeteners
whipped in icing
frosting the filial pill
ushered down a throat
upon father fatality's
call to communion
all cry to this moment
release
possibility
somber
unknown
with every waking motion
on every single sunrise
all accomplishments
must be inked indelible
in the now
no blossom
flowers the same
after snowfall
inevitable track
non-stop master
we let the fear
wind us
to heavens too far
pray
and enjoy
the whistle

Displacement(Co) existing in suspended animation
We are dismembered and static
Spread eagled and gutless
Staring blankly with mottled retinas
When did everything lose its meaning?

We are the mass produced degenerates
Underdogs with prices on our heads
In some kind of lucid crown
But all our kings are left for dead

Summers Lost god died today. or maybe it was tomorrow. i can't remember.

"ask anything."

static skies;
grizzled blue
sketching down
to sewer lines:
like a wish
on a dead star.

the feeling of gritted teeth
and fingers crossed
until they break.

shame tasted
like a scalpel
and a brick wall
against my throat.

and i was
chewing concrete
when i said,
"it's okay."

swallowing cinder blocks;
stuffing steel under skin.

sugar-sweet
on my cheek,
like book pages:

"where have you been?"

Take My Hand"Take My Hand"

Please take my hand
And look me in the eyes
Make me understand
That I wasn't born to die
Don't say those last words
Please don't say its time
I can not concur
Its not time to say goodbye
I feel broken and alone
On many, many nights
But you make me feel at home
Like the stars in the sky
I've watched the world change
I've seen people come and go
Longing to stay the same
But this is never so
Just when things are stable
And at least one step I can take
That's when the cables
Yet again always break
So don't make me sad
Let's run away and hide
And no matter how bad
Together we can cry
Don't bring me down

MonologueSpinal fluid seems to be seeping between the cracks
Of the dark hardwood floors beneath me
As if all the cartilage from my being
Has been used to paste together an arthropod heart
I’ve white washed my pupils and folded them
Into hazy envelopes and sent them off to strangers

The Bambi syndrome(Dis)regarding logic and sensibility
I like to sit on railway tracks, feeling the vibrations beneath my finger tips
Just beneath the blood vessels and haemoglobin
The whirring of the air being sucked out from my lungs
Chicken is not a game for the faint hearted

She called me reckless, and that scared her
Because I craved the adrenaline to flush out the morphine
I balance on bridges, always teetering
Cheshire cat grins as we run across highways
Darting blurring hues of monochrome grey and black cars
In the dark, only headlights visible
Deer in the headlight

Then we ran to abandoned warehouses
Smashed windows and ate shards of glass
Drowning

Evening childWe’d sit on porch steps
Insecticide burning our lungs
Awkward and gangly attempting to grow into our limbs
You with freckles dusting your nose and I with a small dot on my cheek
You called it a beauty spot and I said god was too lazy to give me freckles

We were 15 and lust driven amnesiacs
Dissolving our flesh with cheap gin in your tree house
Throwing pebbles at the sky hoping to shatter it
We were an epidemic of the underdog prognosis
Playing encores to an audience of cowards

For some reason we’d always rush across rail way tracks
Metal bars quivering and our broken sneakers stumbling
We were branded in mistakes and embellis

RainRain trickles down my window pane
Sparkling glass
Crying diamond tears

Walking down the lane
Frozen in time
Like an old photograph

Bright colors, subdued with nostalgia
Glistening dewdrops
Kiss the flowers' velvet dresses

A fresh breeze
Swirls around me in a whirlwind of
Hope and love

I inhale the dreams that died
Buried under the hard ground
That the new rain has unearthed

I dance with abandon
Childish laughter bubbles up like a spring
As I vivaciously stomp through a stagnant puddle

Life breathes around me
As I spin and twirl
Smiling as the sun begins to shine on me

Parting through grey clouds
It beams at me with its gorgeous rays
An

WordsWords float on a thin line
Some scurry through
My cloudy mind
Never to be caught only
Leaving their essence behind
Give me writings to where
People can sometimes find
What I mean

No matter what I do
I can never seem to convey
The emotion of my poem to
A person despite who they are
I even doubt you
Will get just what I mean
When I finish a poem I rue
Make the stupid poem

My own words
Are twisting and forming
Into a poem I didn't make
Sometimes I feel like crying
The frustration is so great
I keep writing
Otherwise I'll always
Be just scribbling

Distant Memories Of A Love Done Gone .They say it's difficult to love someone
When you can't even love yourself.
But I loved you nonetheless,
The problem was I didn't know when to stop.

You kept sending me mixed signs
Making me dizzy until I
Couldn't know
Left right
Much less right
From wrong.

When our world started crumbling down and
T e a r i n g at the seams
It was so easy for you to let it fall apart.
But I, knowing no other kind of love,
desperately clung to the remaining bits,
Trying to put them back together.

Yet the pieces changed too much, too quickly,
They kept growing and
growing a p a r t,
until your world was only yours
and mine a hollow ech

BullyingBullying

it happens every day as ya know
at school, in the circle of friends,
on the work and in the office either
of course, insulters circle excepted

bullying is on the rise
like the rise of the nones
and faced by many people like you

they come from all walks of life,
races, genders, cultures and ages

so angst-riven, panic-stricken, spine-chilling,
pain-ridden and, of course, empty-handed
nightmarish all night long
from day to day down to the present day
you went into a deep depression
assailed by fear and dark thoughts

you try to settle down the silence
you try to fall asleep, bothered of awakening
you wish to have a

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Submitted: October 7, 2012
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by ~grew-up-a-screw-up, Oct 7, 2012, 1:11:21 PM
Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

I'd listen to radio signals
But all I'd hear is chlorine bleached static
That leaves a the bitter taste of Advil in my thoughts
Drugged up in an anaesthetic haze of morphine induced comatose
I'd clench my teeth to stop the florescent vowels
From escaping my insomniac lips
I've chewed them shut and pasted book spines on my ribcage
In an attempt to be something organic and interesting
Because the plain Jane exterior I've laced between my iris's
Is becoming a contradiction of what little sanity I possess

Unknownby ~grew-up-a-screw-up

Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

.....

~AmiHimawari Nov 25, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

the metaphors are too much, but somehow i still got the picture, i guess.

the atmosphere is sad, but the way you wrote this make it feel as if there's something much more beneath this.

~grew-up-a-screw-up Nov 28, 2012 Student General Artist

Thank you, I guess I do overwork my metaphors often but it's just something that defines my writing style I suppose.

I like to let people wonder what I write about and what the meaning behind my words are.

~UndertheShaydeWood Oct 8, 2012

I cannot imagine what is beneath these metaphors for you only that I can relate to each one. They smbolize my feelings all too well. I amagine many people can relate. "bookspines on my ribcage" that's perfect - Dynamic, complex, deep, and profound.

~grew-up-a-screw-up Oct 8, 2012 Student General Artist

I'm glad and somewhat sad that you can relate to them, glad in that you enjoy my writing but sad to know that others know what the feelings are like. It's sad that people can empathise with pain and suffering more than anything else, but I suppose there's a morbit comfort in knowing we are not alone.

~svenspade09 Oct 7, 2012

Through pain and suffering the world shalt be made a new through the eyes of the insane shall it be understood. You write wonderfully from the soul and always live to read them

~grew-up-a-screw-up Oct 8, 2012 Student General Artist

Thank you so much for the lovely comment, I'm glad you liked it.
Though sometimes it's painful to see the world in hazes of grey, after all ignorance is bliss.

~svenspade09 Oct 8, 2012

That's why they made books all the color you need is in them

~grew-up-a-screw-up Oct 10, 2012 Student General Artist

I agree

*Hfeather53 Oct 7, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I dunno what to say. This is lovely and sad at the same time.

~grew-up-a-screw-up Oct 8, 2012 Student General Artist

Thanks so much.

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